CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ON THE RIDE HOME FROM JumpZone, Amelia types a quick text to the rest of the stand girls to share the good news and ask that they report to work tomorrow at six a.m. She reads it aloud for Cate before sending.
Cate has feedback.
“I think it should sound more fun. Like an invite to a party.”
“So . . . more exclamation points?”
“Think ice cream humor. Maybe something about having a sweet scoop on some summer jobs.”
“Ooh. That’s cute. You’re good.”
“Or maybe I scream, you scream, we all scream . . . because I got us our jobs back?” Cate shakes her head. “Okay, no, I like the sweet scoop thing better. But add a winky face, otherwise the girls might not get that it’s a joke. And follow up with the six a.m. thing separately to each girl after they’ve already said yes. Because if you’d told me that before, I’d still be working at JumpZone.” Cate preemptively ducks, knowing Amelia is going to swat her.
By the time they get to Amelia’s house, Amelia has received yeses from five girls. The sixth response is a no that comes in later, after dinner, when Amelia and Cate are upstairs in Amelia’s room.
“Apparently Britnee is loving her new job at Sephora.” Amelia sets her phone down, stunned. “That’s a bummer.”
“Can I be honest?” Cate bites her bottom lip. “I never loved Britnee.”
“Really? Why?”
“Last year, she got super-weird about the newbie chores, as if cleaning the bathroom was some personal slight against her.”
“How did I not hear about that?”
“No idea. But it pissed a lot of girls off, especially Heather. During the last week of summer, I swear, Heather was one eye roll away from straight-up firing her.” Cate shrugs. “I say good riddance. We’ll get way more hustle out of hiring a third newbie.”
Amelia can’t imagine anyone getting fired from Meade Creamery. She’s also reminded that she didn’t mention the need to hire newbies to Grady yesterday. Obviously tomorrow it will be way too crazy to try and train any new girls. But now it can be more than an abstract conversation, because she knows for sure that they’re down three girls, instead of the two Amelia thought she’d have to replace. Three girls adds up to an entire shift.
Amelia brought up a plate of snacks with her earlier—some Cracker Barrel cheddar cheese and Ritz crackers—but Cate hasn’t touched anything, and the ice is melting in her glass of Coke. “What are you doing over there all secretive?” Amelia sits on her knees and tries to peek at Cate’s phone screen.
“Oh, just a little recon on one Grady Patrick Meade.”
Amelia freezes, her glass of Coke just underneath her nose, the fizz tickling her upper lip. “And?”
“I haven’t found much yet. His accounts are set to private, friends only.” Another tap or two and Cate says, “Ooh. Wait up. This could be something.” And then Cate and holds her phone high in victory. “Yes! Jackpot!”
Amelia sets her Coke down and, trying not to look too eager, crawls over, asking, “Anything interesting?”
“I did a little research on Truman’s fraternity chapters. Alpha Kappa Psi is the business one and Grady’s in some of the party pictures.” Cate winces at the screen, laughing. “Okay, he’s still hot, but this is the dorkiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Cate flips her phone around to show Amelia a photo of Grady Meade standing with five other guys in a line, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Grady is the tallest and the tannest one. The thinnest, too. He doesn’t seem skinny in real life, but the other guys are beefy, like rugby players or something. Anyway, they’re wearing matching pastel button-up shirts, madras plaid bow ties, short khaki shorts, and docksiders.
Amelia curls up to Cate and takes a closer look. To Amelia, Grady seems so much more relaxed here than he was at the stand with her.
“Isn’t it funny, to think of me going to parties like this?” Cate says. “Full of these rich, fancy people?”
Amelia studies the picture. The boys are in someone’s backyard, a fancy one, with topiaries and a pergola and a huge in-ground pool. Someone who looks like a waiter stands in the background, balancing a tray on one hand. “Not at all. I feel like this is your destiny.” Cate has always had her sights set on something bigger than Sand Lake. She was the one who advocated tirelessly for their senior class trip to go to New York City. In those three days, Amelia’s pretty sure Cate never slept. Even at night, when the teachers would put tape over their hotel room doors, Cate would stay awake, watching the city streets from their hotel window.
Cate smiles appreciatively. “I’m actually required to take a bunch of business classes for my science degree. The thinking is that one of us might invent some crazy new medicine or diagnostic tool that could, with the right investors, make us millionaires, or whatever. I should get Grady’s take on which professors are good and which ones suck.”
Amelia sees this as another thing Grady and Cate have in common. They both are able to take a totally intimidating situation and see opportunity for themselves.
Cate swipes to another photo, one of Grady at the same party. He’s now stripped down to just his swim trunks, in the beautiful pool, riding a huge inflatable swan. He’s wearing his classic Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses and beaming a bright and toothy smile to the camera. A girl in a metallic bikini clings to him, her head resting against his back, eyes closed.
“So that’s his girlfriend,” Amelia deduces. The girl is extremely pretty. Tall like a model, with perfectly polished red nails and a cloud of thick black curly hair. Amelia feels a heat prickling inside her rib cage.
“She very well could be, I guess,” and Cate wags her finger at Amelia. “She’s also the president of the Truman Future Business Leaders Club. I found these pictures through her page.”
“Oh,” Amelia says, mortified.
“It’s okay. Biases are strong as hell, right? But girlfriend or not, I’m sure Grady will try to get with one of our girls this summer.”
“Do you think? I mean . . . he’s our boss.” Anyway, that’s the line in the sand Amelia’s tried to remind herself of.
Cate shakes her head, like Amelia is naive. “You can’t let a fox into the henhouse and not expect some carnage, Amelia. That’s why we’ll need to make it crystal clear to the younger girls that Grady’s completely and totally off-limits.”
“Yes. Completely and totally off-limits,” Amelia echoes, and hearing herself say it aloud, like a pledge, comforts her. This new rule isn’t emotional, it isn’t personal. It’s simply a sound and solid reason to smother any burgeoning interest she may have for Grady, beyond, of course, his ability to successfully run Meade Creamery.
They watch a movie and paint each other’s nails. White, with little flecks of color, to look like sprinkles. Cate showers first, Amelia second, so they won’t have to do it in the morning. Cate knows what drawer Amelia’s pj’s are in and she helps herself to a matching set of a floral cami and boxers, which Amelia realizes, come to think of it, might belong to Cate. Cate burrows into her nest of blankets on Amelia’s floor while Amelia props herself up with a pillow and begins a to-do list in a notebook.
“There’s no way I’m going to sleep this early,” Cate says. “I don’t think I’ve fallen asleep before ten since I was in diapers.”
“It’s important we get our rest!”
“Then put your notebook down!”
“I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to get everything done tomorrow. We’ll only have five hours.”
“We won’t get everything done,” Cate says, matter-of-fact. “And so what? It’s not like Grady will know the difference. Plus, we can always catch up after opening day.”
“That’s true.”
“And you know, if you think about it, some of the chores we had to do to prep the stand were kind of bogus. Like rake the dirt? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would totally rake dirt, no complaints, if Molly were still alive. But it’s not like Grady will know one way or the other.” Cate braids her hair and smiles slyly. “We should really think about how to use that to our advantage.”
Amelia looks at her chore list and tries to think about what else could or should be changed. She’s sure there’s something, though nothing jumps out at her. She puts down her notebook, clicks off the light, and closes her eyes.
Despite her protests, Cate’s out quickly, and if they didn’t have to be up super early, Amelia might poke her awake and make a joke about it. Amelia wants to fall asleep herself but has the sense she won’t anytime soon. It probably wasn’t smart to think about the stand before bed. It’s got her all anxious.
She picks up her phone. After turning the brightness down on the screen, she does a little digging on Grady Meade herself. Purely from a business standpoint, of course.
She finds an article in the Truman alumni news featuring Grady and his dad. There’s a picture accompanying it, and it’s the complete antithesis of the ones Cate found on the fraternity account. This shot is sober, corporate, constructed. Grady is wearing a white collared shirt and a Truman blue tie knotted tightly around his neck. He’s standing next to his father, who’s behind a huge mahogany desk inside a rich-looking library, wearing the same tie but a different shirt. Neither smiles.
Recalling the awkward exchange between them outside the stand, Amelia suspects this is the reason why Grady’s social media is on lockdown.
The article states that Grady’s father is a big-time businessman and one of Truman’s most famous and successful alumni. His career took off when he was barely twenty and he began constructing his own billboards out of scrap lumber and placing them on his parents’ property. He’d sell advertising to local businesses, use the money to lease more land on neighbors’ property, and sell more ads. When asked whether retirement might be in his future, his answer is “I don’t think that’s going to be possible. Everywhere I look, I see the potential to make money. That’s the lens I’m always wearing.”
In a closing sentence, there is a mention of Quinn Greenfield-Meade. Amelia cuts and pastes the name into a new search. Before she can stop herself, she’s scrolling through Grady’s mom’s photo stream, looking at different birthdays (never a homemade cake, always celebrated at a restaurant) and holidays (St. Patrick’s Day seems big for them, which isn’t surprising) and vacations (several ski trips, one Hawaiian resort, what looks like an Alaskan fishing cruise, the Harry Potter theme park) all going back to when Grady was seven years old.
Quinn’s pictures are mostly of Grady and herself—many shots don’t include his dad, even on Grady’s high school graduation day, which took place around this time last summer. There’s a selfie of Quinn tucked underneath Grady’s arm in his cap and gown. She’s done up beautifully, in a white sheath and matching white cardigan with pearl buttons, her hair perfectly blown out in soft, bouncy curls. Grady looks all Meade DNA. Amelia doesn’t see much of Quinn in him.
She squints and brings the phone screen closer.
Maybe the brows. They both have great brows.